


Home

by Willowsticks



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-25
Updated: 2014-01-25
Packaged: 2018-01-10 00:15:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1152524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Willowsticks/pseuds/Willowsticks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Richard's feelings on being home...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home

**Author's Note:**

> I'm new to A03 so thought I would post all my work here to date! This is the first DIP fic I ever wrote originally inspired when I first heard that Richard was leaving series 3 in April 2013 - it was my take on how he would leave. One shot.

Richard Poole opened his front door and felt the tension from the week evaporate. 

Home at last. 

Where once he couldn’t have told you the difference between a Wednesday and a Saturday, he now lived for the weekends, especially now that he was away for so much of the week. And the new place suited him more... it wasn’t a bungalow for a start. More like what he was used to back in London with a drive, a proper front door (not the poor excuse he had had at the last place), a hall, study, sitting room, a big open plan kitchen and three bedrooms. It had been expensive. More than he had wanted to pay but the sale of his home back in London had ensured that it was his outright, and meant that he no longer had a home in England. His home was here, his things were here, his entire life as he knew it had changed irrevocably and London almost felt like a distant memory. 

He felt settled in this house, and although he missed the sound of the sea (whoever thought he would have missed that) he was appeased by the fact that there was no longer an abundance of sand at the foot of his bed, or in the kitchen for that matter, as there had been in the shack.  
He had been sad to have had to move but understood that it had never belonged to him, had just been a transient resting place while time and life had taken him in a different direction. He wondered idly what it looked like now, whether the new occupant had allowed it to revert to the state he had found it in, that Charlie had kept it in... he winced slightly at the thought. 

Dumping his bag on a chair in the hall he focused his gaze on the doorway leading into the kitchen. He could hear movement. The domestic sounds of pots and pans reminded him of the life he had had as a small boy watching his mother cook dinner before his education had taken over, whisking him away from home into the busy dining rooms of prep and secondary school where cooking was no longer a joy but a conveyor belt set up to help feed the minds of the young. The sound in front of him was relaxing, charming even. His heart leapt a little and he smiled inwardly at the idea that he had been offered a fresh start, a million miles away from anything and everything he had originally held dear. 

Moving to the door, he lent against the frame, smiled and watched the woman he had missed all week. She was undeniably beautiful, but it had initially been her intelligence that had drawn him to her. He smirked when he thought about it, which was often, as he knew that it had been her beauty that had prevented them from being together for so long. He had been intimidated by her, convinced that she would only see him as he saw himself, a man with a receding hair line, permanently teetering on the point of a mid life crisis, too stuck in his ways to change. He had had enough problems with women back in England to also know that he was punching considerably above his weight. If truth be told he was still completely baffled by what she saw in him, but now knew better than to broach the subject with her, choosing instead to trust her and not question the feminine mind. He had pushed her away for as long as he could, fought the feelings that she had stirred in him until the dam had broken and he had found himself unable to fight them anymore. 

He had fallen hard too, something he had never thought himself capable of. His work hadn’t suffered per se, but he did now find himself easily sidetracked from a case, by the smallest of things – the smell of her perfume on someone he passed in the street or the opening bars to a song that she had been singing at breakfast before he had come down to the kitchen.

His move to Guadeloupe had been hard for both of them, but necessary. He had known from the start of their relationship that he couldn’t stay in Saint Marie, but explaining it to her had been another matter. That Camille had not taken it well initially was perhaps a bit of an understatement. She had railed, cried and sulked at him for days and it had taken all he had not to change his mind. But he had known that in order for their relationship to survive he had had to make the move, so he had held fast to his decision (the only decision that had ever gone against what she had wanted). She had eventually been placated by the promise of a house away from her mother and the hope that Richard’s commute and some time apart would strengthen not weaken them. So far it had worked. 

But he missed her. Every second he was away. 

Moving forward he crossed the short distance between the door and cooker where Camille was standing with her back to the room, wrapped his arms around her waist and planted a kiss on her neck, startling her a little in the process. She gave a little gasp and her hands moved behind her to feel for him, to welcome him home.

He murmured something into her hair and she tilted her head back into him and whispered “I’ve missed you too”, before she turned, sliding her arms around his neck drawing him in closer, breathing him in. 

Ah yes. Home.


End file.
